


Through the Veil

by nephilimswitchlight



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canonical Character Death, Character Deaths are Only Mentioned, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death, Parallel Universes, Percieved Ghosts, Post-Avengers (2012), Sad Supersoldiers, Sad with a Happy Ending, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-10-13 02:13:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17479274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nephilimswitchlight/pseuds/nephilimswitchlight
Summary: Steve was mourning Bucky more than he ever thought possible. He missed the man he loved more than anything ever. There was only one place he really felt close to him without pain, though something weird was happening now that he was there. He was seeing Bucky.In a parallel universe not far away, Bucky was mourning Steve. Since his love had fallen from that train, he felt something was missing, felt alone. Their Tree was the one spot he felt any semblance of peace though suddenly that peace is being disturbed by the last thing he thought possible. Visions of Steve.Little do either know, they aren’t seeing the ghost of their lost loves, but Bucky is crossing over into Steve’s universe. Will they be able to find a way to make happiness, or is this yet another painful barrier between two men who have had nothing but obstacles?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am a major Stucky shipper, and when this came to me I just knew I had to do it. I'm feeling some major inspiration on this, so for the next few days(1/19/19) updates will come rather quickly. Hope you enjoy!

Steve wanted to hate the future. He wanted to rave and yell and grieve. He didn’t want to be in the public eye, he didn’t want to be an Avenger. He wanted to hide and mourn and go home. Go back to Bucky.

                He couldn’t though, for many reasons. He had a responsibility. He had people who depended on him. He had a new team. Although, the soldier couldn’t deny that if he were physically able to, if it were possible to go to a past where Bucky was alive and well and happy, he absolutely would, responsibilities be damned.

                He gave a desolate sigh and dropped his sketch book onto the coffee table before him. He wanted to hate that too. The sketch book, not the table. Well, maybe the table. The table and everything else in this too extravagant apartment Shield set him up with. He just wanted to hate it all.

                He sagged in the couch. He couldn’t hate anything. He didn’t have the energy or drive to hate anything. After the aliens were taken care of and Thor had left with Loki, all of the fight in him had disappeared into a numb emptiness.

                The numbness was why he only _wanted_ to hate the future. He used to, when he had woken up. He had hated, and raved, yelled and grieved. All that fight had left him though. Something about having once again lived through impossible situations has left him with an empty hole, as if part of him knew that the fact that he was still living was an error. A mistake.

                Steve had been trying all he could to bring emotions back. He would run until he was exhausted, beat a bag until he couldn’t feel his arms and had even tried picking up art again. The exercise at least was able to put his body in such a state of exhaustion that he was able to pass out at night, but that was the only purpose it fulfilled. The art though, that was painful.

                Everything he tried to draw turned into one familiar subject. Beautiful blue eyes under arched brows. High cheekbones and a chiseled jaw. Smirking or beaming lips that he knew well. A perfect cleft chin. Everything turned into Bucky.

                He would draw Bucky’s face, his chest, his hands. He would draw the way his neck would arch when he finally had to look up to meet Steve’s eyes instead of down. He would draw every aspect of Bucky Barnes he could remember to the point of his love haunting him.

                He was lost in limbo. Here in the future, with nothing to hold him there but no way to go back. A past he couldn’t, and wouldn’t ever return to. All devoid of Bucky. Devoid of happiness. Now, devoid of even feeling.

                He needed to get out. Out of the apartment, out of his funk. To go somewhere, anywhere and do something, anything. He glanced between the almost full sketch book and the door a few times before deciding enough was enough and bouncing himself to his feet.

                Steve threw on a jacket, grabbed his keys and left the apartment to venture into the still bustling night life of Brooklyn. He didn’t know where he was going, just walked wherever his feet took him. He kept his head bowed and eyes down in the hope that he wouldn’t draw attention to himself.

                He didn’t look up until he came to a secluded section of the lake within Prospect Park, a place that he and Bucky used to come so Steve could practice drawing. A place of comfort.

                He dropped down onto the ground at a base of a towering tree and pressed his back to it, head leaning back and pressing into the bark roughly.

                It was peaceful here, calming. The air was warm with a gentle breeze and the sounds of the city surrounded him in a familiar cacophony. If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that nothing had changed, that all he would have to do is turn his head and the brunette would be lounged beside with a besotted smile on his too perfect face.

                As if the thought had summoned something, a quiet rustling could be heard to his left. He frowned, confused as to who could have sat beside him. He turned his head and slowly opened his eyes, letting out a gasp as he did so.

                “Bucky!”

 

* * *

 

_“Grab my hand!”_

_Bucky reached up and did as his love said, clasping Steve’s hand in his tightly and allowing the blonde to pull him into the train with a relieved sigh._

_“Oh thank god Buck! I was so scared you were going to fall.” Steve sighed as well and moved to touch his face. As he moved though, the train car jumped and he was suddenly falling backwards. Backwards and out the gaping hole._

_“Steve!”_

                Bucky sat up harshly, jerking himself from the memory and into a sitting position. He panted severely in an attempt to get his breathing under control and then dropped his face into his hands with a ragged exhaling sob.

                He missed Steve so god damn much. The moment the super soldier had fallen backwards out of that train had been the last moment that he wanted to continue to live. He had lost his entire soul that day and every moment sense had been nothing but painful minute after painful minute.

                He had thought crashing Schmidt’s plane would end his suffering. He thought that maybe he would be joining his Steve in the afterlife, that he would no longer have to feel the absence of his heart like a missing limb.

                But no. Instead he gets to wake up to this blasted future of aliens and flying robot men. A future that Bucky pre Steve’s death would have been beyond delighted to wake up to. Instead, he hated every second of it. He hated even more the fact that now, here, _he_ was Captain America.

                Bucky wasn’t Captain America. Bucky was never meant to be Captain America. He wasn’t supposed to have to pick up that shield, carry its weight and be the hero. Bucky wasn’t a hero. _Steve_ was a hero. But Steve was gone and Bucky was alone.

                He gave an angry huff and tossed his comforter off of himself and harshly padded out of the bedroom. The too cold bedroom. The too empty bedroom.

                Everything was too empty. His living room was bare, cupboards lacking food and walls blank. There was no life in the apartment Shield had given him. No life because he was void of life.

                He made his way to the kitchen and swung the fridge open, glaring at its barren contents. He wanted a drink. A real drink, but ever since whatever Hydra had done to him, he hadn’t been able to get drunk. He had tried far too often but it was fruitless.

                With nothing to drink his sorrows away, and no overly sweet desserts to eat through his feelings, he ended up standing uselessly in the middle of the kitchen, cold linoleum icing his feet. He didn’t know what to do. How to make himself feel better.

                He wasn’t even sure if he could make himself feel better. There was nothing that could bring Steve back, so what even was the point of trying?

                He groaned and gripped his hair in frustration. This line of thought was for sure not helping. He had to do something.

                With as much determination as he was capable of, he went back to his room and tossed the first clothes he touched on, a long-sleeved shirt and simple pants. After getting fully clothed he left the apartment and made his way to the streets.

                The early fall air was warm, and it was late enough that there weren’t the normal amount of people filling the city sidewalks. It wasn’t hard for Bucky to maneuver through them without gathering any attention to himself.

                He ended up at the closest entrance to Prospect Park. He gave the looming expanse of nature a fond smile and walked his way through, aiming for Their Tree.

                It was a large, towering oak that was close to the lake in a slightly more secluded section. It had been Steve’s favorite place to sit and draw. It was where they went to get away for a while. It was the only piece of home he had left.

                He dropped onto the ground beside the towering tree and pressed his back to its surface. Letting out a resigned breath he closed his eyes and rolled his head against the rough surface.

                If he forced himself to, he could almost hear the scratching of Steve’s pencil and his shallow wheezy breathing. He wished with all he was that he could hear that familiar, comforting breathing once again.

                Instead, a huffing sigh met his ears and he shifted as his muscles tightened and eyes flew open.

                A startled gasp left his lips as his mouth fell open and he let out a breathy, shocked whisper. “Stevie?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky both deal with having seen the 'phantom' of the other in different ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry! I know I said I would get updates on this one up fast, but unfortunately I got very, very stuck on how to continue it. I have it down now I think! So hopefully updates wont be so far off this time. Enjoy!

                Bucky stared in shock at the form before him. Steve didn’t look like he had the last time he saw him. He wasn’t in his uniform, instead dressed in pale khakis, a white shirt and brown bomber jacket. His hair was shorter, shaved down on the sides with the longer bangs brushed back.  His eyes though. Those were the biggest difference.

                They seemed, empty, sad, broken. Not at all the eyes of someone who should have been resting in the heaven that someone as pure as his Stevie deserved.

                Steve seemed to be surveying him in shock too. His mouth was slightly open and eyes wide while his breathing came in shallow and unevenly. Bucky didn’t like the look on his face, the defeated sunken look and didn’t for a moment hesitate to lift a hand and touch his fingertips to his cheek.

                “You’re here?” he whispered in shock as soon as his fingers touched him.

                The second the touch seemed to resonate with the blonde, he let out a broken sob of a sound and launched himself into Bucky’s arms.

                He caught the other instantly, one hand gripping the back of his head tightly while the other ran comfortingly along Steve’s back.

                “How are you here?” Steve whispered and Bucky frowned.

                “Stevie, I didn’t go anywhere. I sat down and you were _here_.”

                Bucky felt the other man frown against his neck and then pull back enough to frown at him, blue eyes darting around their surroundings. “Buck, I don’t think we’re seeing the same scenery. I didn’t go anywhere either.”

                Bucky frowned as well for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t care about the scenery you punk! As long as you are real and not a hallucination, I could care less if we ended up in hell.”

                “I’m real.” He said vehemently, determination in his eyes. “Very real. You’re real too?”

                Bucky laughed and nodded. “Very real.”

                Steve’s lips pulled into a beaming smile and then they were suddenly on Bucky’s in a fierce kiss.

                They clung to each other tightly, lips caressing, hands roaming and bodies shaking. Bucky had never thought this would be possible again, and he would be damned if he let the moment go to waste.

                Eventually he had to pull away as his lungs demanded air, but he merely released Steve’s lips and rested his forehead on the others, breathing his air in as they both panted for breath.

                “God Buck, I’ve missed you so much.” He whispered. “Without you, I’m just. I’m not whole.”

                “Stevie.” His voice hitched as he said his name. “Stevie I am so sorry, I wish I could be with you.”

                “Do you remember when my mom told us about my dad?” he asked softly, and Bucky nodded, his brown curls tangling with Steve’s blond.

                “When we asked her if she missed him? Why she didn’t wanna find a new fella?”

                “She said that my dad was her fella. That there wasn’t a single other person on God’s whole earth she would ever love as she loved him.”

                Bucky smiled wetly as tears began to gather in his eyes. “Said that he wasn’t gone from her forever, that someday they would be together again and all she had to do is be patient.”

                Steve nodded this time and blinked, long lashes coming away wet as his tears began to fall. “You’re my fella Buck.”

                Bucky’s own tears began to fall as he let out a shaky sob and pulled Steve tight to him. “I love you. I love you so much and I miss you.”

                “I love you too Bucky.” Steve’s voice came out just as shaky as his own was and he tightened his grip around him. He moved to lean closer, but suddenly the world shimmered and he fell forward, colliding with the ground where Steve had once been.

* * *

 

                Bucky’s form began to fade and suddenly Steve’s arms were empty. His eyes misted over as more tears fell and he curled into himself, hugging his knees to his chest as he sat beneath a relic from his past and sobbed.

                He had no idea how long he sat there and cried, but by the time he came back to himself the air had chilled significantly. He lifted his head from his knees and glanced around him. His surroundings were still just as deserted as they had been, and though in this century New York never truly got dark, it was much darker than it had been.

                He was unsure if he hurt more or less after seeing the strange apparition of Bucky. He wasn’t even sure if he had actually truly been there either, or if he was going crazy. Weren’t ghosts supposed to be transparent and unable to be touched? Bucky had been there, really _been_ there.

                It had felt so real. Too real. So real he couldn’t tell if it _had_ been real.

                Bucky told him it was, had sworn he was really there, though apparently Steve had gone to him which in itself was terrifying.

                Did that mean Steve had what, temporarily _died_? He couldn’t wrap his mind around that either. He really would think that he was losing it, except Steve wasn’t sure he even had the imagination to come up with that.

                Or maybe he did? Maybe he was so desperate for Bucky to be alive that his subconscious had given him a realistic dream. A dream so realistic he could still feel Bucky’s lips against his, his hands against his skin.

                Determined not to question his own sanity, for the sake of wanting to keep said sanity, Steve resolved to believe it had truly happened. Hell, maybe corporeal ghosts were a thing in this century?

                Curious on whether or not that was true, he pulled the phone Stark had given him from his coat pocket and moved through it until he found the number for Agent Romanov.

 

Are corporeal ghosts a thing in this century?

1:37 AM

 

                Her reply just made him frown, a bunch of question marks followed by a little picture of what he assumed was a ghost. He let out a faint groan and actually called the number.

                “Steve. What movie are you watching?”

                “Not watching any movie.” He replied with a soft sigh.

                “So, you’re just curious about ghost movies?”

                He sighed again and shook his head. “No, Agent Romanov, you misunderstand me. I don’t mean a fictitious ghost.”

                “I’ve told you Captain, its Natasha.” She replied before asking. “Are you curious about an _actual_ ghost?”

                Something about the tone of her voice made him blush and he bit his lip. “Well, maybe, yes.”

                Silence answered. “Steve, are you okay?”

                “I’m fine!” he assured. “I just, never mind its nothing. Sorry to disturb you so late, have a nice night.”

                He hung up quickly before she could reply and then turned the device off. If her reaction was anything to go by ghosts were not the normal in this century.

                Despite that, he had to keep believing that he had truly seen Bucky. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it if the other man had been his imagination. He _needed_ him to be real.

* * *

 

                Bucky trudged back towards his apartment, a frown etched into his features. Steve had felt so real! He had actually been there, in his arms. Nothing like the phantom ghosts were supposed to be.

                What was he supposed to have taken from that? Steve didn’t look okay. He didn’t look like someone who was at peace. Isn’t that what all the stories are of? Loved ones coming to you to show that all is well, they’re happy and you need to move on?

                Except, Stevie had practically said the opposite, hadn’t he? That Bucky was his only love? Did he expect Bucky to move on and was telling him that he himself never would? Damn it, everything was so confusing and he didn’t know what to think of it all.

                He stopped walking then with a heavy sigh. This walk was supposed to help clear his head, and now he just felt more lost. He looked up from the sidewalk to take in his surroundings, maybe a nice overly priced cup of coffee could help him think better?

                A jolt of surprise filled him as he noticed where he had stopped. The apartment building Clint owned loomed before him. The sniper was a nice and seemingly laid-back guy, maybe he would have some insight into the strangeness Bucky’s night had turned into.

Hey, you awake?

1:37 AM

Sure am. Just chilling with Lucky and watching

trash tv. Whats up?

1:37 AM

I’m outside, mind if I come up?

1:38 AM

Not at all. Door will be unlocked

1:38 AM

 

                Bucky gave a sigh of relief and made his way into the apartment. Clint was exactly where he said he’d be. Lounged across his run-down couch with his golden retriever across his form. He raised a hand in greeting to Bucky as he entered and gently pushed Lucky down as he sat up to make room for him.

                “Hey. You doing okay?”

                Bucky shrugged and sat heavily beside him. “Not really. You?”

                “Okay is a relative term my friend. Though I’m not currently in any crisis like you seem to be.”

                “You ever seen a ghost Clint?” He turned his head to look at the archer as he asked, eyes falling on him just in time to see him blink owlishly.

                “Dunno. Maybe? Between the circus and Shield I’ve seen some weird shit. Why? Did you?”

                “I think so.” He replied with a soft voice, before launching into an abridged version of what had just happened. “And then he just, faded to nothing and I landed face first in the grass. But he was there Clint! I swear his touch was real. But he didn’t, I don’t know, seem happy? Shouldn’t people in heaven be happy?”

                “Is that what’s bothering you? That he wasn’t happy?”

                “He was so sad. I’ve been able to handle living because I thought he was happy Clint. But he’s not! What if ghost world is somehow painful? Or he’s in some weird limbo thing!”

                Clint made a thoughtful face before he shrugged. “Dude, I’m so not a ghost expert. At all. But I totally believe you. If aliens are real, why not ghosts.”

                “Thank you! That’s what I thought too.” Bucky gave him a relieved smile. “I just don’t understand why he’s so sad though.”

                “Well, in all the ghost movies and tv shows, they’re like, stuck because of unfinished business. Maybe you’re right on the limbo thing?”

                He groaned and put his face in his hands. “I just want him to be happy Clint. Stevie, he’s always been my everything you know. I was his common sense and he was my passion. I just, knowing he’s hurting and I can’t do anything about it?”

                Clint set a gentle hand on his shoulder. “How about this dude, I make us a couple pots of coffee and we get some supernatural research going on? See if there are any other stories like yours?”

                Bucky sat up and gave him a surprised look. “You’d do that?”

                He shrugged. “I’m not sleeping the best right now either. Besides, after Loki, you and Nat are the only ones who aren’t looking at me like I’m a loose cannon or a traitor or something. You’re my friend Bucky, of course I want to help you.”

                He grinned and pulled the other man into a surprise hug, earning a small ‘meep’ against his shoulder. “Thank you.”

                Clint gave him a grin in return as he pulled back, giving him a friendly punch to his shoulder.  “Well, come on then soldier. Let’s add ghost hunter to our resume’s!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you tons for reading! I would love to hear from you, as comments are very encouraging!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Sorry the first chapter is so short, but its kinda just a prologue like intro. Hope you liked it nonetheless! Kudos brighten my life, and I would love to hear from you!


End file.
